


7/11 Runs After Midnight

by WrittenByMe_C



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Drunk Grantaire, Enjolras looks after Grantaire, First Kiss, Grantaire is a Mess, M/M, Minor Joly/Bossuet Laigle/Musichetta, but in a good way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:33:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27491272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WrittenByMe_C/pseuds/WrittenByMe_C
Summary: Grantaire and Enjolras run into each other one night. Grantaire is a bit drunk.~Title comes from the song "Was It Something I Said?" by Mykey but the actual song has no relevance to the story.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 73





	7/11 Runs After Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> Did I write this instead of sleeping? Yes.  
> Am I posting it instead of writing an essay? Also yes.

The fluorescent lighting made his brain shake. He felt the world tilt slightly as he made his way over to the bread aisle, Joly’s voice ringing in his ears about _soaking up the alcohol_. He stumbled over the air – or maybe it was his own feet – and knocked into a display of Halloween decorations. They ended up sprawled across the tiles and Grantaire bent down to help the disgruntled employee pick them up. The movement made his head swirl violently and he sat down at the end of the bread aisle breathing deeply and trying to block out the sound of the animatronic witch cackling just a few feet away. He put his head in his hands, scrunching his eyes shut and letting his stomach settle. The alcohol was leaving his system already and he was feeling the effect tenfold. He wondered why Bossuet and Joly decided to wait in the car and let him wander into the store by himself but then he remembered the look Bossuet was giving Joly as the pre-med student parked the car and he was happy he wasn’t there to witness _that._

The thought of his friends in love and happy cheered him up a considerable amount once he pushed the image of what they could be doing out of his mind. Grantaire reached up to the shelf behind him and heaved himself up, squishing a packet of hotdog buns under his hand.

“Grantaire?”

He’d barely taken three steps toward the loaves before a voice said his name. A voice he recognised. A voice that made his stomach flip in a good way and his heart flutter and his palms sweat – although admittedly they were already sweating. He spun around slowly, not wanting to fall on the floor and embarrass himself. The fluorescents that were making his head shake dulled in comparison to the bright beauty at the end of the aisle.

“Grantaire, what are you doing here?” Enjolras asked, in a tone that suggested he had already asked him and Grantaire wasn’t paying attention. He stepped forward, placing his basket on the shelf with the squished hotdog buns, and reached out to steady Grantaire who, despite his efforts, was swaying rather obviously.

“Apollo!” Grantaire greeted loudly, then lowered his voice dramatically at the glare he received from the same employee from earlier. “I am on a bread mission. A _brission_ , if you will.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow, “A…brission?”

Grantaire nodded seriously and turned back around, finally making his way to the pre-sliced loaves. He stood staring at them for what felt like an eternity when a hand touched the small of his back. He jumped and the hand disappeared.

“Where’s Bossuet?” Enjolras said from beside him. For a second Grantaire was confused; how did Enjolras know he was out with Bossuet? But then he remembered that they had planned the outing on the group chat, much to the chagrin of their other friends, all of whom couldn’t make it for various reasons. Well, all of them apart from Enjolras who totally could have come if he didn’t have such a stick up his ass. That made Grantaire giggle, thinking of Enjolras’ ass. “Grantaire. Bossuet, where is he?”

“Car.” Grantaire shrugged, grabbing three bags of bread off the shelf. He pushed passed Enjolras and made his way over to the self-service.

“Car? You drove in this state?” Enjolras asked, hurrying after him and grabbing his basket and something else off the shelf. Grantaire didn’t pay much attention, just kept trying to find the barcode on the bag. He was just about to smash it against the scanner and hope for the best when two slender hands covered his and twisted the bag around by half an inch, showing the barcode clear as day. But Grantaire didn’t care for the barcode anymore, he was too focused on Enjolras’ hands.

They were warm. Of all the fantasies – innocent and not-so-innocent – that Grantaire had had about Enjolras’ hands, he never once thought they would be warm. Despite this, he knew it made perfect sense. Everything about Enjolras was warm. Even his hatred, his angry glares, his indignant shouts at stupid politicians – all of it was lit up by a burning, fiery, passion. He never did anything half-heartedly; there was always that passion driving him.

“Grantaire, as ground-breaking as black and white stripes are, the store does close soon so you need to scan these. And please, tell me you didn’t drive here.” Enjolras said, letting go of Grantaire’s hands and moving to scan his own shopping.

“Not me – Joly.” Grantaire said, but he still didn’t move to scan the bread. Enjolras, having made quick work of paying for his own items, tapped Grantaire’s hip and nudged him out of the way. He took the bread out of Grantaire’s hands and went through the motions. It wasn’t until they were walking out of the store and into the poorly lit parking lot that Grantaire realised he hadn’t actually paid. Enjolras seemed to notice this.

“It was bread, Grantaire. It didn’t exactly break the bank.”

“Did you know that phrase is rooted in gambling and not the commonly perceived breaking of the piggy bank one may do as a child?” Grantaire asked, looking down at his feet and trying to focus on walking in a straight line.

“I- actually, no. I didn’t know that.” Enjolras seemed impressed but that couldn’t be right because Grantaire never impressed anyone and certainly never a God.

Despite looking at his feet and making careful, deliberate steps, he still managed to stumble to the right and knock into Enjolras as they neared the car park. Instead of pushing him off and laughing like Bossuet or Feuilly would have done, or slinging an arm around him and pulling him in for a giant hug as Courf or Bahorel were known to do, Enjolras slipped his hand through Grantaire’s arm and gently tucked him into his side, steadying him, grounding him. It was a decidedly Jehan-ian move.

“Where did Joly park?” Enjolras asked, as if he wasn’t touching Grantaire and in _public_ no less.

“Uh. In the car.” Grantaire said, not thinking straight (but when was he _ever_?)

“Funny. Was it his car or Bossuet’s?”

Grantaire thought hard, trying to recall the vehicle. He knew that it was a small car. Or maybe it had been large. He couldn’t remember. But he did know he was squished in the backseat because Bossuet got boyfriend privileges despite Grantaire calling shotgun. He scrunched his face up comically, hoping that the expression would force his brain to remember more details. All he could think of was, “Purple.”

“Purple. Right. Grantaire, _none_ of our friends have a purple car.”

“Oh. They’re having sex anyway; I don’t want to walk in on that.” Grantaire said matter-of-factly, then sat down on the curb outside the store, pulling Enjolras down with him.

“They’re _what_!?” Enjolras asked, his cheeks faintly dusted with pink.

“I’m assuming, anyway. I would.” Grantaire shrugged. Enjolras’ shoulder moved with him; their arms still linked between them.

“Y-You _what_?” Enjolras stuttered out, a brighter red spreading across his face.

“I would have sex in a car.” Grantaire shrugged again. He looked at Enjolras and took in the redness of his face. “Did you think I would do it with Joly or Boss? Gross, no, they’re like my brothers.”

“O-of course not – all the Amis, we’re like f-family.” Enjolras said, sounding unsure and a bit sad.

“Well, not all of them.” Grantaire said without thinking much about it. He felt Enjolras move away slightly.

“Right.”

“Woah, where ya going Apollo?” Grantaire asked, reaching through his own arm to grab Enjolras’ hand and pull it back through. “Can I have some bread, please? My stomach is feeling rather saturated.”

“Saturated?” Enjolras asked, digging around in his (reusable, of course) shopping bag to obtain a few slices of bread. It took him a while; only one hand was free to do the rummaging, the other still ensnared in Grantaire’s.

“Yeah, all the alclo- aloco- booze. It’s permeated my stomach and I need the bread to draw it back out and soak it up.” Grantaire nodded solemnly, as if he were mourning the fate of the liquor.

“How did you manage to say ‘saturated’ and ‘permeated’ but not ‘alcohol’?” Enjolras asked with a huff of laughter, turning back to Grantaire with three slices of bread in hand. Grantaire shrugged, a grin threatening to split his face in two.

“I have no hands.” He said, the grin suddenly dropping into a frown. He looked down at his hands, one of which was tucked around his middle in order to keep his arm close to his side and therefore Enjolras’ arm trapped, the other still holding onto Enjolras’ hand. Enjolras looked down as well and something that felt distantly like regret and embarrassment flickered in Grantaire’s mind, but he pushed it aside to see if Enjolras would point out the obvious: he could just let go. Enjolras didn’t.

Instead, he put the slices of bread in his lap and awkwardly tore off a piece of the top slice with one hand. Grantaire watched the movement with steady eyes, a moment of lucidity washing over him. Enjolras lifted his hand, the bread held delicately between his fingers and Grantaire followed it. He flicked his eyes up to Enjolras’ face, expecting a disgruntled why-on-Earth-am-I-stuck-babysitting expression. But that’s not what he was met with.

Enjolras looked… _fond_. He had a soft smile on his lips – a beautiful, welcomed difference to the stoic or annoyed expressions he normally sported – and the pupil of his eyes were wide. Not completely blown out, Grantaire could still see a ring of perfect sapphire, but they were as wide as Grantaire had seen them at rallies or during more heated discussions at meetings.

Not breaking eye-contact, Enjolras’ hand moved forward again, pushing the bread against Grantaire’s mouth. Grantaire accepted it slowly, savouring the moment as much as the taste. He chewed the bread at what he hoped was a normal pace, suddenly really aware of how his jaw was moving while Enjolras’ eyes were still on his. He paused, however, when the taste finally registered in his mind.

“This isn’t my bread.” Grantaire said around the mouthful, then quickly finished it off and swallowed. Enjolras’ eyes flickered down to his throat at the movement, then the blond shook his head – going redder still – and realised he needed to reply.

“Oh. No, it isn’t.” He tore off some more bread and held it up again. Grantaire took the bread in his mouth with a raised eyebrow. Enjolras shrugged, “You only picked up white. I grabbed some of the seeded stuff you like.”

Grantaire swallowed, partly to, y’know, swallow the bread, but also to get rid of the lump that formed in his throat. He faintly thought of Joly and how the pre-med student would be frantically shouting about getting to a hospital if he knew how fast Grantaire’s heart was beating.

“You know my favourite bread?” He asked quietly, still looking at Enjolras’ eyes despite the blond having turned his gaze to the floor. Grantaire thought back on the question, “I _have_ a favourite bread? Oh god, this is the whole turning-into-an-adult thing I was warned about, isn’t it?”

Enjolras laughed, throwing his head back slightly. It only lasted a short while, but it made Grantaire’s heart soar. He’d never made Enjolras laugh before, not really. There had been huffs, a bark here or there, but mostly whenever Grantaire tried to be funny it was met with an eye-roll or a _pay attention!_ He’d heard Enjolras laugh before, it wasn’t a new sound. Courfeyrac manages it at least once a week (more if he’s lucky, less if Enjolras is stressed) (he’s often stressed), and sometimes Enjolras will laugh when a protest goes particularly well and he doesn’t know how else to express his happiness. But this was different. This was full-on laughter as a direct result of something Grantaire had said. It was purposeful and meaningful and…beautiful.

Enjolras shook his head slightly, a smile settling on his lips. He folded up the last part of the top slice and held it up to Grantaire but this time, instead of taking the offered bread, Grantaire surged forward and caught Enjolras’ lips in his own.

Grantaire was thankful to the alcohol still in his system for giving him the courage to do what he’d been wanting to do for years. He was extra thankful that the bread and the bright lights of the store had sobered him up enough to know exactly what it was that he was doing. He was extra, _extra_ thankful when, instead of pulling away, Enjolras just dropped the bread and pushed his hand into Grantaire’s hair.

It was like Grantaire could taste the passion usually reserved for speeches and rallies and the occasional email to a dickhead in power. His entire body lit up in that same fire that served Enjolras, starting at the lips and branching out, wrapping golden tendrils around his mind and his heart, and sparking every nerve alight. He finally released the arm from his side and moved his right hand up to the back of Enjolras’ neck, their opposite hands still connected between them. Grantaire felt the fire surge where their skin connected. He tingled all over; an electric, white-hot current.

They could have stayed there for hours, in fact, they might have done (one tends to lose track of time when set ablaze), but a blinding light soon cut them off. For a split second, Grantaire thought that they really were on fire, that they’d burned up into an incandescent glow. Then he thought that he had died; that when he fell to the floor in the store that had been the end and everything since then was just a happy dream to lure him into eternal rest. But no, this blinding light came with a gasp and a cheer and sniffled _our boy is all grown up_ and Grantaire knew that Joly and Bossuet had finally pulled away from each other to find him.

“Purple!” Was the first thing that Grantaire said once his friends turned down the brightness of the headlights. He turned to Enjolras. “I _told_ you.”

“Joly, when did you get a new car?” Enjolras asked, clearly unhappy that he’d possibly made a mistake before. Grantaire found it endearing, but that wasn’t new: he often found Enjolras endearing.

“It’s not mine, it’s Chetta’s.” Joly said with a shy smile, mirroring Bossuet’s stance of sticking his head out the window to talk.

Enjolras tilted his head in confusion, “Chetta?”

“Our girlfriend.” Bossuet said, nervousness leaking into his voice.

“Your girl-”

Grantaire cut Enjolras off, jumping up to ask, “She said yes!?” He was the only member of Les Amis who knew about Musichetta and her relationship with Joly and Bossuet. The three of them had been dancing around each other for months now, until Grantaire finally talked some sense into Bossuet and made him realise they could just, all three of them, be together.

“No,” At Joly’s reply, Grantaire faltered, stepping back into a now standing Enjolras, whose arms instinctively came up and wrapped around Grantaire’s middle. His heart fluttered but he didn’t have time to dwell on the action as Joly continued, “She got really confused and said she thought we were already going out.”

Grantaire let out a raucous laugh, leaning back into Enjolras who, although confused, was also chuckling slightly.

“Enj, do you need a ride?” Joly asked, attempting to steer the conversation away from his and Bossuet’s classic relationship ineptitude (it had taken them fourteen years of friendship and four years of awkward flirting before they _finally_ admitted to liking each other. They were lucky that Chetta even knew they wanted to be friends).

“Uh, no, my car is just over there.” Enjolras replied, tipping his head to indicate the direction. Joly nodded and moved back into the car. A second later Bossuet’s head also disappeared inside the vehicle with a squawk.

Grantaire twisted in Enjolras’ arms, half expecting the blond to drop them. He didn’t. In fact, he squeezed a little bit tighter and smiled down at Grantaire. There wasn’t that much of a height difference – barely three inches – but Grantaire _loved_ it. So often he imagined himself wrapped in Enjolras’ arms; the blond resting his chin on the top of Grantaire’s head, Grantaire having to lift himself up on the tip of his toes to place delicate kisses to Enjolras’ lips and cheeks and nose. He sighed, a mix of happiness and fear.

“So…” Grantaire started, but he wasn’t too sure what he was going to say.

“How sober are you right now?” Enjolras asked, barely a whisper, letting his own fear seep into his voice.

“ _Enjolras_.” Grantaire said back, just as quietly. “I’ve wanted this for _years_. Even if I were black-out drunk right now, every single decision I have made tonight has been one I have _wanted_ to do.”

Enjolras let out a shuddering breath. Grantaire took a deep one. He couldn’t believe he’d actually said that out loud and it wasn’t met with a sneer of disgust or a pitying smile of rejection.

“Okay.” Enjolras nodded once.

“Okay?”

Enjolras nodded again. “Yes. Okay. I want this too. I want _you_. I have for… I don’t know how long. But, a while.” He cleared his throat. “Joly and Bossuet are waiting. I’ll call you tomorrow? Or, today, rather.”

Grantaire nodded dumbly. Despite the whole feeling-on-fire thing and the standing-in-each-others-arms thing, he hadn’t quite believed that Enjolras felt the same. But hearing him say it, hearing him say the words _I want you_ was an entirely different thing altogether.

“Not before-”

Enjolras cut him off, “Not before two in the afternoon, I know. I’ll phone you at two and you’ll still be asleep. And so, I’ll phone you at three and you’ll only just have had a coffee so you’ll hang up after asking me to phone back in about an hour, and then you’ll remember _why_ I was phoning and call me back almost instantly.”

Grantaire grinned and lifted himself up on the tip of his toes to kiss Enjolras again. And again. And again. Until Joly got fed up and flashed his lights at them, Bossuet wolf-whistling out of the window.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Be sure to leave a comment, they make my day :)


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